


East And Tenth

by incorrectbatfam



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: That moment when the cute regular is also a hot bartender.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	East And Tenth

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, thank you @bisexualoftheblade for beta-ing

Jaime remembered the move about as well as he remembered turning six months old.

One moment he was baking a cake in El Paso. The next thing he knew, his family had expanded their bakery, so they packed up and said goodbye to Texas and moved into a house five hundred miles away and cut a ribbon in front of the new store’s doors and the Reyes Family Pandería was open for business.

As he stacked empanadas in the display window that morning, Jaime glanced outside at the other small businesses that lined the street. On the left of the cheerful family bakery stood a noir-esque bookstore aptly named The Bat’s Cave with the latest thrillers and true crime advertised on posters. Across the street was a boutique called Goddess, the name written in gold cursive almost like a cowgirl’s lasso. Beside that was the Kent Inn for anyone who happened to pass through. And on the Reyes’ right was a bar called The Speed Force, currently closed because the two businesses operated at opposite hours. It was quaint and quiet compared to El Paso, and Jaime enjoyed the change of pace.

A bell jingling startled him out of his daze. Jaime set the tray aside and wiped his hands on his pale blue apron. He turned around to face their first official customer (he didn’t count the inspectors yesterday). 

He froze as his eyes met a pair of brilliant green ones. The guy whom they belonged to was just as breathtaking. Though he appeared a couple years younger than Jaime, he was almost fully developed with what he could only assume were abs underneath the red baseball shirt. His fiery red hair was short but also in need of a haircut. And he wasn’t alone, accompanied by an older redhead.

“ _ Hola _ ,” Jaime said, trying to ignore how dry his mouth suddenly was. “Hi. Welcome. Anything I can help you with?”

The older one—brothers, he assumed—replied, “Nah, just looking. We had breakfast so we’re not too hungry.”

“Speak for yourself,” the cute one snorted. 

“I’ll, uh, leave you guys too it then.” Jaime backed away, only to knock a chair over.

He quickly picked it up before rushing to hide behind the counter before he could make a bigger fool of himself.

“Your bi’s showing,” Milagro scoffed from the cash register, arms crossed and smirking. 

“Shut up, Mil,” Jaime said, face already turning pink, grateful that his parents were in the upstairs office filing paperwork.

The teen rolled her eyes and playfully shoved her brother. “You’re such a disaster, I swear.”

“Like you’re any better. You spewed milkshake from your nose,  _ recuerdas _ ?”

“Hey, it got her attention.”

“And now you’re forever Milkshake Milagro to Lian Harper.”

She whacked him with a dishtowel. “Go pick up your tray,  _ idiota _ .”

“ _ Hazlo tu. _ ”

“Papa says I’m supposed to run the register.”

“Hey, I’ve done most of the setup  _ esta mañana _ and you’ve just been standing around.”

Someone cleared their throat. Jaime whirled around, and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see the only two customers there ready to pay. 

“On second thought, I’ll do the cleaning,” Milagro said.

Jaime glared daggers as she walked away with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“I’ll just take this,” the older one said, placing down a bag of churro bites.

“That’ll be $2.79,” Jaime said, scanning it. He looked at the other boy. “And anything for you?”

“I dunno. What do you recommend?” he asked.

Jaime’s heart skipped a beat as he answered, “The concha is a classic. It’s a sweet roll and I personally really like it.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Crash, I’ll have one of those then.”

“Crash?” Jaime asked as he grabbed the pastry.

“It’s something he made up,” the older one said. “He keeps trying to make it a thing.”

Jaime laughed. “I like it. I think it’s cool.”

He rang them up, subtly applying his employee discount. A tingle ran down his spine when he and the younger boy’s hands touched as Jaime handed back the change. 

“I take it you’re new to town, Jay-mee?” he asked, mispronouncing his name. “Uh, it’s okay if I called you by your name, right? I mean, you’re kinda wearing a nametag.” 

Jaime fought back the creeping blush. “It’s ‘Hai-mey’. And, yeah. My family just moved here.”

“It’s a cool name,” the redhead said, leaning against the counter. “I’m Bart, by the way. If you ever need a tour, I’m your guy.”

The older one snickered as he opened the churro bag. “It’s two streets. What is there to tour?” That earned him a rough elbow to the ribs.

“Anyway, we better get going, right Wally?” Bart said. “We promised to help Tim with those new Stephen King books. I’ll see you around, Jaime. Er, I mean, we’ll see you around? If that’s okay. Desserts are always crash, so we’ll definitely be back.”

“ _ Sí. Hasta luego. _ Come again!” Jaime added under his breath, “ _ Por favor _ .”

Milagro shook her head as soon as the two were gone. “ _ Estás _ hopeless.”

***

Twelve hours later, the  _ pandería _ doors were locked and Jaime worked on sweeping the floors. He’d almost forgotten about Bart with how busy they were, and it wasn’t until he spotted a flash of red hair among the customers did he feel a tiny flutter of hope in his chest (it disappeared just as quickly upon seeing a middle-aged woman).

Despite the buildings not being adjacent, the music from The Speed Force thoroughly shook the bakery. It sounded in intervals, with bass drops that Jaime quickly learned to predict because all EDM songs were the same to him. He occasionally paused his work to send a rotten look to the obnoxious noise, as if the bar owner could see him past two brick walls and a narrow alley.

Jaime emptied the dustpan for the last time. He tossed his apron aside and turned off the lights. With Milagro only working part-time and his parents’ shifts finishing before his, he was the last to leave at the end of the day.

Double-checking that the doors were locked, the twenty-four-year-old headed next door. Surely a small-town bar wouldn’t be all the hype, would it?

He was wrong.

Seemingly every adult around was there, and some even waited outside for tables to free up. Jaime slipped past and grabbed the only empty barstool left. To his left was a band of sorority girls who looked young and probably used fake IDs to buy their martinis. To Jaime’s right sat three men yelling at the football game on TV. On stage, a punk band headed by a guy in a bedazzled jacket entertained the guests, who sang and talked and had a merry time. 

Jaime flipped through the menu. He wasn’t a big drinker, but it was rude to sit down and not order anything. 

The bartender got to him a couple minutes later, rambling.

“Sorry for the wait, one of our waitresses called out the last minute and the Budweiser tap stopped working and whatever. Anyway, what can I get you?”

Jaime looked up. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes followed every curve and angle of the other man’s body. The redhead lost the raglan and instead wore a dress shirt with sleeves rolled halfway, plus a black bow tie and nametag on the pocket. He leaned against his work station, going from  _ lindo _ to  _ muy guapo _ in Jaime’s eyes.

“ _ Sí _ . Uh, what do you recommend?” Jaime asked.

Bart smiled. “I got just the thing. But first, I’ll need to see some ID. Rules and all.”

Jaime flashed his driver’s license and Bart got straight to work. The movements mesmerized him. Every shake of a tiny bitters bottle, every stir of the glass. He watched as Bart’s hands worked expertly like a speed painter and body moved like a dancer.

A glass placed in front of him snapped Jaime out of his daze.

“A classic Sazerac,” Bart said. “A favorite of our regulars.”

Jaime took a sip of the drink before asking, “So, how long have you been working here?”

“Since I was legal,” Bart answered. “So coming up on three years now.”

“And how long have you lived here?”

“Since I was born, like most people,” the bartender said. “I have the phone numbers of everyone here. Well, except you.” Bart winked.

Thankful for the low light, Jaime blushed a tomato red. The logical part of him said that Bart probably only wanted to be friends, but common sense knew that prospective friends didn’t wink at each other like that.

“So you know everyone? Like what about those guys?” he pointed to the rock band.

“That’s my friend Kon from high school,” said Bart. “His dad owns the inn, but he wants to tour the world with the Kryptonians. That’s what they call themselves. But one of them’s still too young.”

It was then that he noticed the rest of the musicians. The lead guitarist and singer—who he assumed was Kon—sported a ‘90s leather outfit and hairstyle. Next to him was a blonde keyboardist with an ‘S’ on her t-shirt and a short skirt. Jaime almost didn’t see the drummer, hidden behind the drumset, who looked no older than ten with a dollar store hoodie and jeans.

He chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.” He pointed to a guy at a corner table nose-deep in a copy of  _ Sherlock Holmes _ . “What about him?”

“Also know him from high school. Tim Drake. His dad owns The Bat’s Cave down the block. They specialize in all the creepy horror or crime books. Not my thing but hey, to each his own. Tim manages the OG one here and his brothers run their newer stores in Gotham and Bludhaven.”

“And her?” he glanced at a blonde girl fiddling with the jukebox.

“That’s Cassie. Again, high school. The four of us were tight,” Bart said. “Her aunt owns the Goddess boutique and she’s the only reason Kon is barely presentable in public.”

“What about that guy you were with earlier? Is he your brother?”

“Nah, that’s my cousin Wally. What about the other girl at the bakery?”

“ _ Mi hermanita _ . My little sister, Milagro.”

“Man,” Bart said, “I’d kill to have a sister. Closest I got is Wall-man and he spends half his time across town with his girlfriend.”

Jaime laughed. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,  _ ese _ . Last week she got up at four in the morning to put crickets in my blanket.”

“Really? Tell me more.”

The two maintained eye contact as Bart worked, talking about anything and everything under the roof, from Jaime’s memories of El Paso to Bart’s childhood dream of being an Olympic runner. Hours flew by as Bart refilled Jaime’s drink a second time, and then a third. Even with the alcohol blurring the room out of focus, Bart still stood clearly among it all.

The fourth time Jaime slid his glass back, Bart placed it in the dirty dish bin. “I’m gonna have to cut you off, dude.”

Jaime whined, “But it tastes good.”

“Maybe next time,” the bartender said. “Plus, we’re closing.”

Jaime glanced around. The once-crowded bar was now sparse. Other than him and Bart, the only other occupants were Kon (the only band member without a bedtime), a couple of employees, and an old man passed out in a booth.

He pouted. “Are you sure, Bart?  _ Hermano? Ese? Cariñooo? _ ” Jaime stood up, only to stumble and grip the bar.

“I’m calling an Uber. You stay put.”

***

Jaime woke up with a pounding headache, like a jackhammer on the inside of his skull. The first thing he noticed was sunlight streaming through drawn blinds.

No, scratch that. The first thing he noticed was that he was not in his own room.

“ _ ¿Que diablos? _ ”

“You fell asleep in the car before you could tell anyone your address,” a voice said beside him. “Hope it’s okay that I brought you here.”

Bart was already awake. The clock beside Jaime read 10:15 AM and he was glad that his shift wasn’t scheduled until the evening. The redhead placed a steaming hot cup of coffee on the bedside table. 

As Jaime took it, he asked sheepishly, “Did we...er...you know…” He wiggled his fingers as he trailed off.

“Of course not. I’m not an asshole,” Bart answered, taking a sip from his mug. “Nothing happened, unless you count mistaking me for Ed Sheeran and telling me I’ll be late for the Harry Potter shoot. I think you got your celebrity gingers mixed up, by the way.”

Jaime’s ears felt like they were on fire, and it didn’t help at all that Bart was right in front of him shirtless the entire conversation. “ _ Ay Díos mio… _ ”

“Anything else I should know about? Did I commit treason while drunk?” he asked.

“Does eating all my Chicken Whizzies qualify as treason?”

Jaime groaned. “I am so sorry, Bart. I was probably a handful. How can I make it up to you?”

Bart hummed nonchalantly. “Go on a date with me.”

Jaime nearly choked on his coffee. “ _ ¿Disculpe? _ ”

“What?”

“You wanna go on a date. With me,” said Jaime, disbelief in his voice.

“I mean, sure,” the younger one said. “We pretty much flirted the whole night. At least, that’s what Kon told me. And you’re crash and life is short and whatever it is people say, so why not.”

“I do have a roaring hangover though. Any date suggestions with that in mind?”

The ginger’s face lit up with joy, and he almost seemed to vibrate in excitement for a moment before he paused to think. Jaime stared at his scrunched face and decided that going out with Bart may be a good choice after all.

Bart’s voice burst through Jaime’s thoughts. “How about that greasy spoon diner on North and Eleventh? I’ve heard they’re a perfect hangover cure,” Bart asked.

Jaime grinned. “That sounds perfect,  _ conejito _ .”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Thirty minutes later, they found themselves at a small eatery called Zatanna’s, decorated with neon purple lights with a drive-in window, like out of a 1950s romance. And just like the Fifties, waitresses zoomed about on rollerskates, balancing enormous trays of food that made Jaime’s mouth water. A hostess in a black top hat showed them to a booth by a large window. He caught her wink as she placed a milkshake menu on the table, but his date didn’t appear to catch it. 

Bart’s eyes widened like a child in a candy shop. “Holy shit, they have Everything Pancakes. I didn’t know those actually existed.”

Jaime giggled at how awestruck Bart looked. 

A waitress zoomed by on skates, dropping a cup of coffee for each of them. When she returned, Bart greeted her like an old friend. Jaime supposed that wasn’t too surprising, considering the town was small and the redhead claimed to know everybody.

“Artemis, long time no see! How’ve you been?” Bart said.

The blonde waitress rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like it’s been forever, Bart. You crashed mine and Wally’s date last week.”

“You guys had Chicken Whizzies and didn’t offer me any. What choice did I have?”

The woman—Artemis—laughed and ruffled his hair. “Anyway, what can I get you guys?”

Bart ordered the “Everything Pancakes” (whatever those were) and Jaime settled on a simpler omelet. 

Before Artemis left, Jaime quickly added, “I’ll take a strawberry milkshake too. And, uh, put this on one tab.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he was determined to ride the wave of confidence while it lasted. Bart seemed to get the message, as he added, “Bring us two straws with it.”

Artemis gave both men a knowing look before scribbling on her notepad and heading off to refill another table’s drinks. Their confidence faded as soon as she left, and both Jaime and Bart were left awkward blushing messes once more.

“I-I hope that’s crash,” Bart said, fiddling with a napkin.

“Totally,” Jaime replied.

They sat there in silence, dark honey eyes transfixed on absinthe ones, hands mere inches apart on the table. They moved at the same time, fingers bumping clumsily. 

“Sorry–”

“ _ Lo siento– _ ”

Jaime gestured like a flustered high schooler. “Can I?”

Bart nodded, face red as his hair. Jaime took Bart’s hand and in a split second of stupid courage, kissed the back of it.

They lost it right here, dissolving into a fit of giggles that left both of them unable to breathe. 

“I hope you guys can breathe enough to eat,” Artemis said, returning with plates full of food. “I don’t need another person choking on an awkward first date.”

“How’d you–”

“Bart, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. I know you better than Wally. By the way, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Bart asked.

Artemis glanced at the half-empty restaurant. “My boss won’t mind.”

“Jaime, Artemis. Artemis, Jaime,” Bart mumbled quickly.

He shoved his food in his mouth before any further questions could be asked. The blonde laughed and roller-skated away. 

“You really do know everyone,” Jaime commented as he watched Bart devour a stack of pancakes covered in butter, syrup, cream, fruit, bacon, chocolate, and mini muffins.

“Artemis is Wally’s fianceé, actually,” Bart said. “They’ve been together since high school. Meanwhile the only thing I have from high school is Kon’s sweaty gym sock in my backpack.”

“That reminds me of my  _ amigo _ Tye back in El Paso,” he said. “Man, do I got a story for you. So it’s junior prom and his date was a chicken…”

Just like the night before, they wound up talking for hours. Long enough for Artemis to clear their plates and for them to share not one, but two milkshakes. They would’ve been there until closing if Jaime’s phone didn’t ping with a reminder.

He groaned. “I have to go, my shift’s about to start.”

Jaime scribbled his signature on the check and left a generous cash tip for Artemis. Bart stood up and offered his hand.

“I’ll walk you,” the redhead said. “You paid, it’s the least I can do.”

The wind combed through Jaime’s hair, the sky as gray as his sweatshirt. The street lamps flicked on at barely four-thirty as the first light drops hit the pavement. Bart unscrewed a red-and-white umbrella from an abandoned hot dog cart. 

“You can’t do that!” Jaime exclaimed.

“Relax, I always give them back,” the redhead said.

Jaime got under the umbrella, placing his hand above Bart’s on the handle. Bart placed his other hand above Jaime’s, and Jaime did the same again.

Rain drummed around them like surround sound, heavier by the second, but their little patch of the sidewalk remained dry. Bart leaned close. Their lips barely brushed, but it caught Jaime by surprise.

Suddenly, his clothes were drenched.

Bart took off, umbrella in hand, laughing and shouting, “Catch me if you can!”

Jaime sprinted after, dodging street lamps and mailboxes, surprised by how fast the younger man ran. Each time he came close, Bart slipped from his fingertips. 

Jaime secured a victory by sheer dumb luck as they approached a crosswalk with the light reading “DO NOT WALK”. He practically tackled Bart from behind, wrapping his arms around skinny shoulders. 

Bart spun around. Jaime took Bart’s face in his hands, admiring how the raindrops accentuated every tiny freckle. 

It was a gentle kiss, hinting at a request for an invitation. He had plenty of first ones, but none left him so nervous. As he pulled apart, something in his gut reminded him:  _ “Don’t screw this up. You don’t wanna screw this one up. You can’t screw this up” _

Bart let the umbrella drop as his fingers made their way into Jaime’s short hair and he said, “Do that again.”

***

Workplace visits became a common occurrence. Every morning, Bart visited the bakery, where Jaime not-so-secretly gave him the employee discount and they exchanged sugar-sweet kisses when no one was looking. Every evening, Jaime swung by the bar—sometimes for a drink, most nights just for conversation and entertainment. 

Leaves crisped up. The pandería replaced their strawberry pastries with pumpkin spice. The Speed Force advertised hot apple ciders. Milagro went back to school, leaving Jaime and his parents to work extra hours.

It was worth it, especially when he had the closing shift. Sometimes, when Bart had a day off, he snuck through the bakery’s back doors. He’d pat the Reyes’ family pet—a grumpy cat named Khaji Da—and greeted Jaime with a peck on the lips like the kitchen was their own. 

Bart met his family. Jaime met the West-Allens.

They didn’t formally come out either time, thinking it was obvious enough.

Apparently, Milagro was the only Reyes member who got the clue, because one day his mother sat him down and asked, “Jaime, do you have a drinking problem?”

“ _ ¿Qué? _ Where is this coming from?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“ _ Mijo _ , you’ve been going to the bar almost every night for the past three months,” she said.

“ _ Cuatro _ ,” Alberto corrected from behind the counter. 

Jaime laughed. “Guys, I don’t have a drinking problem. I’ve just been hanging out with Bart at work.”

Bianca sighed in relief. “Well, if it’s just you and your friend...”

Jaime winced. “Well, there is one more thing.”

He took a shaky breath, looking from his mother, waiting ever so patiently, to his father, tapping his fingers against the counter, to Milagro, who watched from inside the kitchen. Even the cat watched, albeit lazily, from the windowsill. Suddenly, the swirling patterns of the wooden tables seemed oddly interesting. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Bart is...he’s my boyfriend,” he said. “I like guys. It’s who I am. Please don’t be mad.”

“Oh, Jaime.” Bianca placed a hand on his cheek. “You’re our son. Nothing will change how much we love you.”

“Your mother’s right,” Alberto said. “That being said, we do need to talk about this Bart boy.”

Jaime’s eyebrows scrunched. “What’s wrong with Bart?”

“Well…”

Bianca and Alberto looked at each other, as if telepathically debating how to go about telling their adult son how they truly felt. From the corner of his eye, Jaime watched Milagro slowly back out of the room.

He asked again, “What’s wrong with me dating Bart?”

“We don’t think he’s a good influence on you,” Bianca said.

Alberto added, “He works at a bar instead of going to college and all his friends are the same. You’re a good boy and we don’t want that rubbing off on you.”

“It’s true,” the woman said. “It’s nice that you’re finding people your age, but maybe reconsider the type of crowd?”

Mouth agape in stunned silence, Jaime’s brain couldn’t even come up with a response. Bart, a bad influence? He was the smartest, funniest, most considerate guy Jaime knew. Hell, Bart was always the first to cut people off when they’ve had too much, and he never let people wander out if there was even the slightest risk of danger. He was loud and fast-thinking and impulsive, but that was only when it came to himself.

Jaime’s father roughly patted his back.

“Glad you understand,” Alberto said. He shoved a broom into Jaime’s hands. “Now go sweep the supply room.”

***

“We should get dessert,” Bart said.

Jaime laughed, crinkles forming under his eyes. “How the crap do you eat so much?” he asked. 

“Hey, I get the munchies, okay?”

They stumbled down the street, Bart’s arm slung over Jaime’s shoulder. The redhead’s breath smelled like salt and lime, hot compared to the biting air. Hair tousled and shirt rumpled from their close call in the restaurant bathroom, he looked fierce and hungry and the tension between them was like lighting a cigarette at a gas station. Bart held himself up long enough to place a sloppy kiss on Jaime’s lips. And another on his cheek. And another on his jaw. Jaime shivered at every warm touch.

“And,” Bart said between kisses, “I know a great place for sweets. The bakery. I’m talking about the bakery. You guys have really good cake.”

Jaime snapped back to reality. 

“I-It’s probably not a good idea,” he stammered. “Why not hit another bar? They sell food there too. We can use your employee discount at the Speed Force.”

“Hm, lemme think…nope,” Bart said. “Think about it. Dessert sounds pretty crash right about now.” 

The older man shuddered as Bart trailed feather-soft kisses down his neck.

“ _ Ese _ , I can’t tell if you’re hungry or horny,” he said.

“Mm, why not both? You have whipped cream in the kitchen.” Bart waggled his eyebrows.

Jaime hesitated. “I just don’t think _ la pandería _ is a good idea right now.”

“You should’ve thought of that while we were walking.” 

The redhead pointed up at the pastel blue awning that shielded them from the beginnings of another frozen drizzle. Jaime cursed himself for not noticing.

“Seriously, babe, I don’t get why you’re so moded,” Bart said, opening the door before Jaime could even find his keys. “Hey, if it makes you feel better, we can wait and do it at my place.”

“Do what, exactly?”

Jaime’s eyes locked with his father, who was more interested in the way Bart was draped over the Latino’s shoulder and the way one of them was far less sober than the other.

“ _ Mierda _ .”

“Jaime, a word,  _ por favor _ .”

Jaime told Bart, “Just…wait here. It’ll be quick.”

He followed Alberto to the back.

“What’s he doing here?” the man demanded.

“Relax, Papá,” said Jaime, “we’re just getting some snacks and we’ll be outta here.”

“I’m not so old that I don’t know what ‘out of here’ means,” Alberto said. “I thought I told you he was a bad influence.”

Jaime glared at the floor. He was twenty-four for God’s sake! He shouldn’t even be living with his family, let alone let them tell him who he could and couldn’t date. At this point if he listened, it was out of respect, not obligation.

“He’s not a bad influence,” Jaime replied, fist clenching and unclenching.

Alberto pointed out the ticket window, where Bart drunkenly hummed the _Back To The_ _Future_ theme with his feet on the table, as if to prove a point.

“So?” Jaime asked. 

“He’s holding you back, Jaime.”

A tiny jingle of the bell caught both their attention. Jaime looked out just as Bart ran past Milagro, who looked confused as she propped open the door with her arm. It was abundantly clear that the younger man heard the conversation. Or at least the last part. Jaime cursed and hopped over the counter.

“I forgot my phone,” Milagro said. “Are you okay,  _ hermano _ ?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Which way did he go?” he asked.

She pointed and he wasted no time racing into the frozen rain. Icy droplets pricked his skin like cacti, hammering down at full blast to the point where Jaime couldn’t see where he was running to. He relied on the yellow street lamps and the shadow cast by Bart’s fading figure. 

With one last push forward, an intersection came into view. The “DO NOT WALK” sign was distorted by the downpour. 

At the edge of the sidewalk, Jaime grabbed Bart’s hand and pleaded, “ _ Cariño _ , listen to me.”

Bart wrenched his wrist from the older man’s grip. “I’ve heard all I needed,” he spat, eyes swirling with anger and hurt. “If I’m holding you back, then it’s best I don’t stick around.”

He stepped onto the crosswalk. 

A pair of headlights came into view, blindingly bright and barreling towards with no sign of braking.

Jaime could scarcely think as he lunged, yanking Bart back to the curb by the crook of his elbow. And not a moment too soon as the car zoomed past, right where Bart would’ve been.

Realization dawned and in a flash Jaime was all over Bart.

“¡ _ Díos mio _ !” Jaime exclaimed. “Are you okay,  _ mi amor _ ? Did you get hurt? Oh god, that was so scary. I don’t want that to ever happen again. I love you too much to lose you.”

Bodies flush, their hearts pounded in sync. 

“You love me?”

Jaime’s hands moved to Bart’s face, where rain mingled with teardrops. He swiped them all away with his thumb. He leaned in. It was a gentle kiss, as if saying, “I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay because we have each other”. 

“Does that answer your question?”

Bart swallowed. “Do it again.”

And what could Jaime do other than oblige, for he had a golden opportunity under his fingertips, standing in the rain, beneath the street lights on the corner of East and Tenth. 


End file.
